Filling the Void Within Me
by demonkatgurl17
Summary: Derek backed Stiles up against one of the steel girders in the abandoned station, stopping mere inches away from him. Stiles's eyes were trained on the floor, staring at anything else but the warm body in front of him, nearly pressed against him. He didn't know why he was here, what had driven him here, to Derek of all people.


Derek backed Stiles up against one of the steel girders in the abandoned station, stopping mere inches away from him.

Stiles's eyes were trained on the floor, staring at anything else but the warm body in front of him, nearly pressed against him. He didn't know why he was here, what had _driven_ him here, to _Derek_ of all people. He was sure that if there was a shred of sanity coursing through him right now, then he would have never have left the relative safety of his room.

Never would have broken speed limit after speed limit to get to the one person with the power to break/hurt/_tear him apart_ or to fix him, fill the void, the _need_ building within him to be more, to be capable, worth _noticing_ for once in his freaking life. Never would have come here, lost and confused and angry—so_ angry_ at _himself_— and needing someone willing to fix things for him for once.

He was so _tired_ of fixing everyone else, trying to help them (how could they expect him to help _them_ when he couldn't even help _himself?_). He could be better than this frailty, this weak _uselessness. _He _wanted_ to be better than this, and so he had driven blindly to Derek, who had given hope and power and strength to others when they had needed it, and maybe now to _him_.

But he was scared, terrified even. Scared of asking, scared of being deemed unworthy of the effort, scared of being laughed at and thrown out on his face for the audacity of asking in the first place.

So he stood, back pressed to ice cold steel and heart thumping rabbit-fast in his chest, nearly biting through his lip to keep from blurting out the stream of words fighting to burst from his lips.

He could sense the Alpha's eyes roving over him, burning him with their intensity, with their questions. Stiles hadn't answered him when asked what he was doing here— he couldn't. It was absurd, downright insane, yet he couldn't get his feet to move, to stumble back up the dust-covered steps and run as fast as he could from this place. Something was pinning him to the spot, preventing him from flight, and it had nothing to do with the strong hand gripping his chin, guiding it up to meet the searching hazel eyes of Derek Hale.

Determination, perhaps.

Determined to prove himself to his friends, to his father, to _Derek_ that he was strong enough, smart enough, that he could _handle_ this challenge and others to follow just _please_ don't overlook him, _please_ don't write him off as the funny, plucky side-kick wanting a little glory for himself.

He couldn't stop staring into Derek's eyes, holding them and pleading with them, trying to get the words across that his mouth couldn't bear to utter.

_Fuck, _Derek was so _close_, completely in his space and half boxing him in with the arm resting on the beam next to Stiles's head. Their breath mingled in the faint chill of the room as they gazed an each other, Derek taking him in while waiting for his response.

"Bite him."

Stiles startled, flailing limbs nearly hitting Derek in the chest. He had thought they were alone down here, but just a few meters away stood Peter Hale, as alive and calm and in control as he had been in the warehouse. Peter's arms were crossed nonchalantly over his chest as he observed the two before him. "Bite him. Make him part of the pack."

Derek's jaw clenched at the quasi-command, scowling at his uncle. "Why? Because _you_ want him? Or to take him from Scott's pack?"

Wait what? Stiles's attention darted between the werewolves. What was he missing?

"Both, actually," Peter replied smoothly, as though they were discussing something mundane like the weather or the latest lacrosse game and not the transformation of someone's _life_. "Though, I wouldn't think of it was taking Stiles from Scott, so much as it would be adding them _both_ to your pack. They're… something of a packaged set, really. But, in my opinion, you have the more valuable of the two at your fingertips." He smiled predatorily as he tread closer, cutting off Stiles's last escape route.

Stiles swallowed desperately against the flood of saliva on his mouth. The faint masculine scent of Peter was mingling with Derek's and it was making his mouth fucking _water_. His mind spun when he felt Peter take one of his wrists in hand, fingers pressed to the inside to _feel_ the frantic hammering of his pulse as well as he could hear it.

_What the _fuck_, was he getting _off_ on this?_ He thought, hazily, as he felt his cock twitch, quickly swelling to hardness as his senses were filled with the werewolves.

He saw Derek's nostrils flare, scenting his arousal, and his eyes went red as they met Stiles's brown ones. Stiles felt his knees give out suddenly and he fell away from the girder, his body never making it to the concrete floor because, in a flash, Peter's arms were around him, pulling Stiles's back flush with his front and pressing his rather impressive hard-on to Stiles's ass.

And finally, Stiles felt his mouth open but no words came out, only sounds. Wild, needy sounds that echoed off the walls and into the surrounding darkness. And just like that, Derek was on him too, crowding tight against Stiles's front and burying his face in the hollow of Stiles's neck, breathing hotly across the skin.

Stiles's arms moved of their own accord: one wrapping around Derek's neck to drag him closer and the other back and around Peter's neck, holding on for dear life as he writhed between them, whatever modesty he'd had gone with his inhibitions.

A wet, firm tongue licked at his neck in long strokes and Stiles tossed his head back onto Peter's shoulder, bearing his throat submissively to Derek, to his _Alpha_. Derek snarled at the gesture, rolling his hips into Stiles's as he attacked the taut skin with tongue and teeth. Wrapping a leg around one of Derek's, Stiles bucked, rubbing himself as best could against Derek, trying to get more friction, needing to _come_.

A hand in Stiles's hair angled his head so that Peter could press their lips together, taking and taking as he plunged his tongue into his begging mouth, fucking it in sync with his thrusts to Stiles's ass. Stiles whined, wanting more, _needing_ more of their hands, their mouths, their cocks, _all of it_, but Stiles couldn't find the air to voice his pleas, could only rock back and forth between them, willing them to take him, to take _everything_. There were hands all over him, on his chest, on his hips, on his ass—he couldn't tell whose was whose and he didn't care so long as they didn't stop touching him, stroking him, loving him.

Derek sucked an earlobe into his mouth, nipping it, before breathing wetly into his ear. "Do you want it?" He nuzzled the shell, panting between his soft growls.

Breaking away from Peter's sinful lips and wickedly addicting tongue, Stiles groaned out "yes," not even really sure what Derek was asking and not caring in the slightest because, whatever they were willing to give, Stiles was more than happy to take.

Peter's soothing kiss to the side of his neck was lost in the wake of the agony that erupted in Stiles's side, pushing away the lust fogging his mind. His scream was swallowed as Peter pressed his mouth to Stiles's, attempting to distract him from the teeth in his flesh, of the blood seeping out of him with every frantic beat of his heart.

Derek nuzzled at Stiles's neck in apology, back as sudden as he had left.

Both men petted him, praising him in soft whispers, as Stiles's world faded to black, held securely in their arms.

Stiles, groggily opened his eyes, surrounded by heat on two sides and pacified the feeling.

He was in one of the old cars of the subway station on a worn out mattress that was clearly at the end of its days. Stiles could feel more that one spring digging into him, but he ignored the discomfort in favor of glancing back and forth between Derek and Peter, who were pressed to his sides and propped up on their elbows, studying him.

He frowned in confusion before his memory flashed back: the drive to the subway, finding Derek, finding Peter, finding himself _between Derek and Peter_, and pain, sharp and sudden, followed by darkness.

If he was awake now, after Derek had bitten him…

A slow, content smile pulled at Stiles's lips as he closed his eyes and _focused_, faster and easier than he'd experienced, even on his medication.

Three heart beats, strong and calm, resounded in his ears, more beautiful than any music he could think of; his sense of smell was also heightened and Stiles took several minutes to sort out each one: dirt and old sweat from the mattress; the faint clash of chemicals outside the car; himself, clearer and more distinct than ever; the similarities in Derek and Peter's scents, as well as their differences; and something sharp and heady that made Stiles lick his lips and his hips twitch— arousal.

Sighing softly, tilting his hips up a bit more as he felt the ache of his recent need begin to consume him once more.

There was a shift of the mattress springs next to him and Stiles snapped his eyes open to see Derek's face hovering above his. Transfixed by the varied colors in Derek's eyes (now able to pick out each and every shade), Stiles didn't realize they were getting closer and closer until soft lips tenderly brushed his, the stubble around them tickling.

Slowly, the kiss deepened, Derek's tongue exploring his mouth like he owned it. Then again, he kinda _did_ own it, because Stiles was _his_ now, _his beta_, and wow that was a far more arousing realization than he'd thought it would be. He whimpered into Derek's mouth, clawing at the mattress (with actual _claws_) as Derek pressed a hand possessively over Stiles's throat.

The whimpers turned into outright moans when a hand cupped Stiles's erection through his pants, stroking over the trapped flesh.

An amused chuckle came from Stiles's other side, from Peter, as he teased Stiles, not to be out done by his nephew. He tugged at the front of Stiles's jeans, undoing them and freeing the hard cock inside before swallowing it down in one go.

Stiles tore away from Derek's kiss to thrash his head on the mattress, overwhelmed by the sudden heat surrounding his cock. He bucked his hips, trying to get deeper, but was held down by Peter's hands on his hips.

Forced to just lay back and enjoy Peter's mouth bobbing on his length, Stiles was astonishingly placid when Derek began removing his shirt layers, exposing his lightly toned chest. As Derek thumbed his nipples, he was vaguely aware of Peter tugging down his jeans and removing his remaining clothing, still lapping at Stiles's cock.

A grey Henley shirt was tossed onto the mattress near his head before Stiles could focus on the sculpted perfection that was Derek Hale's torso. He got a close up view of the tight abs when Derek swung himself over Stiles, straddling his chest. When Derek unzipped his pants, Stiles's mouth fell open in anticipation.

He wasn't to be disappointed. Derek's cock was thick and long and already leaking precome, which he smeared over Stiles's lips with the engorged head.

Stiles licked his lips, tasting the bitter fluid, before flicking his tongue over the slit of Derek's cock. At Derek's encouraging groan, Stiles took in the head and sucked, finally putting his past research and porn viewing to good use.

A strange popping sound echoed off the walls of the car and Stiles wondered what it had been until a slick finger pressed to his pucker, massaging in small circles. Stiles gasped around the cock in his mouth, momentarily surprised by the sensation of a lubed finger touching and slowly pushing into him before he drew his legs up, spreading them for Peter, eagerly. Stiles had done this to himself on occasion, on the nights when his father was out on patrol so he wouldn't be discovered, but it was so much more exciting having someone else do this to him, someone else opening him up wider and wider.

Lust burning through him, Stiles ran his tongue fervently across Derek's straining shaft, opening his mouth wide to take as much in as he could. He pulled at Derek's densely muscled thighs, urging the Alpha deeper, to fuck into his _throat_.

Taking hold of the back of Stiles's head, Derek watched his cock disappear again and again past Stiles lips, eyes blood red as he panted above the teen.

Stiles lost himself in the hypnotic regularity of Derek's moving hips, in the feel of his hole loosening as Peter stretched it over one, two, then three fingers, tantalizing him with sporadic brushes over his prostate.

He saw Peter wrap a hand over Derek's hip and give a brief squeeze then the Alpha was gone, pulling out of Stiles's mouth and moving off of him entirely.

A whine of loss sounded within the car before Stiles realized that it came from himself. But then Peter was surging forward, comforting Stiles with swift, nipping kisses and letting Stiles wrap his arms around his neck to keep him close.

The short popping sound came again, but Stiles expected it this time.

Peter gently pulled away from him to allow Derek to manhandle his legs, moving them further apart and closer to his chest, guiding Stiles's hands to the back of his own thighs to hold himself open. Derek locked eyes with Stiles, taking hold of his hips as he pushed in carefully, sinking in centimeter by centimeter, watching Stiles's facial expressions to gauge his speed.

There was pain, yes, Stiles had never had more than one or two fingers in him before, but Peter had been thorough in his preparation, making the stretch a minimal burn as Derek eased in glacier-slow until he was balls-deep inside Stiles.

Fingers teased through Stiles's lengthening hair as Peter calmingly massaged his scalp, peppering kisses across his forehead while Stiles adjusted to having a cock inside of him. Stiles moved a hand to squeeze one of the older man's in thanks, grateful for the distraction. Peter laced their fingers together and squeezed back, smiling down at him.

Turning his attention back to his Alpha, Stiles wiggled experimentally, more than pleased with himself when Derek bit back a groan.

Flexing around Derek's length, Stiles bit out a "please", imploring Derek with his eyes to move, please God _move_.

Derek's eyes flared red as he gripped Stiles's thighs and pulled nearly all the way out before sliding slowly back in; Stiles groaned at the feeling of emptiness before being steadily filled again by the thick, hard cock. The protracted speed was driving Stiles mad as Derek moved in and out at a snail's pace. He needed it harder, needed to be _fucked._

Clenching hard, Stiles sobbed _"Derek"_, trying and failing to move himself faster on his Alpha's cock.

Snarling out Stiles's name, Derek's restraint broke. He pulled out and rammed back in hard, shoving Stiles further up on the mattress and practically into Peter's naked lap.

When did Peter strip?

Then any and all questions flew from Stiles's mind as Derek pounded in and out of Stiles's stretched hole. Stiles moaned and panted through the rough thrusts, his claws ripping through the mattress under him as he struggled to maintain control of himself.

The sharp scent of semen hit him before soft skin brushed against Stiles's lips.

His eyes flew open (when had he closed them?) to see Peter kneeling close to his face, eyes glowing blue as his hand flashed wildly over himself, his cock every bit as long and thick as his nephew's.

Wantonly, Stiles dropped his jaw, opening wide for Peter to thrust in and fuck his mouth. He braced his hands on Peter's thighs, Derek's punishing cock driving him closer to Peter.

Closing his eyes, Stiles floated in a state of bliss, being used at both ends for the older men's pleasure and _loving_ it. His own hard cock lay leaking and forgotten against his stomach.

Derek was the first to come, snapping his hips viciously against Stiles as he roared out his completion. His grip on Stiles's thighs created bruises that wouldn't heal for hours. Stiles moaned around Peter's cock at the feel of come spurting with him. He involuntarily clenching down on the sensitive length inside of him before Derek pulled out to lie beside him, reaching out to wrap his hand around Stiles's neglected cock.

Pulling out briefly to switch positions, Peter straddled Stiles's chest like Derek had, before plunging back into Stiles's waiting mouth. His thrusts became shallower as he leaned forward onto all fours, fucking the teens face with abandon, his balls smacking obscenely against Stiles's chin.

Peter was close, Stiles could _taste_ it, _wanted _to taste it. He wanted so badly for Peter to shoot his load down his goddamn throat that Stiles felt himself wolf-out slightly. His eyes glowed golden-yellow and his claws sank to Peter's skin where his fingers were digging into the taut thighs, creating trickles of blood that ran down them. The sudden pain sent Peter over the edge into orgasm, the werewolf slamming home deep inside Stiles's mouth and coming in thick jets. The milky fluid welled up and dribbled down Stiles's chin as he slurped feverishly around the twitching length, swallowing what he could.

Withdrawing carefully from Stiles's semi-fanged mouth, Peter flopped limply onto the mattress and lazily turned his head to watch Derek jack Stiles's cock in twisting pulls.

Stiles was back to clawing at the mattress as he teetered on the edge.

Fuck, he was close, _so close_, but release dangled just out of reach, and he _sobbed_. Hands wrapped around his wrists in an iron grip and pinned them above his head, preventing further damage to the bedding. Stiles stared into Peter's ice-blue eyes as the older man held him down, calming him, making him feel _safe_.

Derek shifted closer to Stiles and licked a wet stripe along the shell of a pointed ear.

_"Come,"_ his Alpha growled, his voice low and graveled and barely human.

Hearing the command, Stiles bucked his hips up into Derek's grip and _finally_ fell over the edge, his back bowing as his orgasm jolted through him. He mewling helplessly as he splattered come all over his chest and Derek's hand.

Dimly, Stiles felt Peter release his wrists.

Lethargy set in as the euphoria left him, and he felt more than saw as he was cleaned up and arranged between the older werewolves.

The last thing Stiles was aware of before sleep claimed him was the _rightness_ of being between Derek and Peter, feeling their acceptance of him. He felt well and truly wanted, like he _belonged_ to them.

Stiles smiled contentedly as his pack mates draped their arms across him, possessive and protective in their slumber.


End file.
